


One Shot

by heartsinger



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, Episode: s02e08 Parenthood, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Canonical Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Canonical Incest, Implied/Referenced Canonical Rape/Noncon, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Murder, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Season/Series 02, Sex, Swearing, but it's not particularly fun, so keep that in mind, technically, the only part of Shameless I've seen is like half of S1 and some of the later Gallavich shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinger/pseuds/heartsinger
Summary: In the aftermath of Frank walking in on them at the Kash and Grab, Ian actually understood that Mickey was serious about Terry killing him. Things went a little differently after Ian realized that death is rather more permanent than juvie.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96





	One Shot

"My father will _kill_ me!" Mickey said.

_ 'Oh my fucking God, he means it.' _ Mickey wasn't exaggerating. He was also still talking, but Ian couldn't understand, because _ fuck. _ Jesus Christ. If Terry found out about Mickey, _ ever, _ Mickey was going to fucking _die,_ and dead was so much worse than juvie.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Terry is going to fucking kill you!" Shock was running his mouth.

"Not if I kill Frank first!"

Ian actually considered it for a second. He didn't _want_ to kill Frank, and he thought Frank could be kept quiet, but Christ, was it really worth the risk?

_'And what about next time?'_ And Ian realized there _would_ be a next time. They weren't that good at hiding, they just fucking proved that. "Sure, okay, you kill Frank, and you go to juvie, and then you come home, and then fucking what? No one gives a shit about Frank, but what if it's Mandy next time, or someone the cops give a shit about?"

"Mandy can keep her fucking mouth shut. And we won't fuck up again."

Neither of them noticed that they spoke as if Mickey and Ian still banging after however long Mickey went away were inevitable.

Ian snorted. "You're telling me you can just never get caught for your entire fucking life? What kind of way to live is that?"

Mickey shrugged. "It's not like I have a fucking choice. It's not like Frank is exactly a loss to the world anyway."

Ian felt bad that he couldn't really disagree with that assessment, but there had to be a better idea. Ian racked his brain, trying to figure out how to actually fix this. Then he realized, and it seemed so simple he almost laughed. "We have to kill Terry."

Mickey laughed. "You think that's even a fucking option? You think I wouldn't have fucking done it already if I could? He's huge and always armed. We can't kill him."

"He has to sleep sometime, Mickey."

"He'd wake up."

"Fuck'd that matter? Use the gun."

Mickey looked confused. "What gun? He'd fucking notice if I took a gun."

Ian stared at Mickey. Then he went behind the counter and pulled the gun out. "This fucking gun."

"Jesus, Linda kept that?"

"She did."

"Killing Frank would be a lot safer."

"Today, maybe. And then you look over your shoulder for Terry for the rest of your fucking life."

Mickey looked scared. He looked so fucking afraid Ian almost wanted to tell him to go ahead with his original plan. "Fine. We do this your way. I'll take the gun, and I'll shoot him first chance I get."

"Mickey, how good a shot are you?" Ian asked the question without realizing what he meant by it.

Mickey shrugged. "I'm not a fucking sniper, but I do okay."

But this was his father. Mickey was already scared. What if his hands shook? Terry Milkovich was not going to go down easy. They had one shot at this.

"ROTC tells me I could be one someday," Ian said slowly, somehow still not acknowledging to himself the offer he was implying.

Mickey's eyes went wide and he stepped closer to Ian. "Don't be fucking ridiculous. He'll fucking kill you."

The words came out in a rush. "Not if I kill him first." _ 'Oh my God, oh my God, am I really going to kill him?' _ There was a part of Ian that was still freaking out about this, but there was another that was… settled. Terry was a clear and present danger. Ian has been preparing himself to kill for his country for years now. This wasn't such a leap.

"What if my brothers decide to kill you for fucking with him?"

Ian shrugged. "Do you really think they will?" He sounded calmer than he felt.

Mickey shrugged back. "I don't fucking know, man, but it's a pretty goddamn big risk."

"Hey, if Terry decides he wants to kill you, I'd probably be next anyway."

"I can take care of my own shit."

"I know you can, Mickey, but the thing is, maybe this time you don't have to."

Mickey looked away, and Ian had the feeling there was a concession in that. Mickey swallowed hard, looking so far to the side Ian couldn't see his eyes. "You aren't a goddamn criminal."

Ian snorted, because he was. Not like Mickey, no, but he'd broken his fair share of laws to keep food on the table. He hadn't gotten _caught,_ but he'd still broken them.

"Not a _real_ criminal. How you gonna be an officer if you go to fucking juvie?" There was something raw in Mickey's voice.

And that was when it came to Ian. "So we make it self-defense."

* * *

Ian sat under Mickey on the couch in the Milkovich living room. They were fucking, at least theoretically, but it was difficult for either of them to really get in the mood when they were both shaking with nerves. Linda's gun lay between them, hidden from view. Ian could feel it, though.

"Fuck, are we really gonna do this?"

Mickey was clutching at Ian's arms hard enough to bruise, and his voice was trembling. 

"Yeah," Ian said, voice almost as unsteady. "This is the last fucking time he ever hurts you. I fucking promise."

"Get the fuck outta here with your fag shit, Gallagher," Mickey protested. 

Before Ian could come up with a reply to that, he heard it. Footsteps. Someone was coming up onto the porch.

Mickey stopped breathing for a second, then pushed himself back onto Ian, gasping theatrically. As the door opened, Ian made himself moan. It wasn't that it didn't feel good, being in Mickey always felt good, it was just that it was kind of hard to give a shit when he was this fucking terrified.

Terry growled low in his throat, and it took everything Ian had not to go for the gun right fucking then.

"You little cunt!" Mickey and Ian stopped, and Ian could feel both their heartbeats, they were so close together. I shoulda fucking drowned you at birth. You think you get to be a fag? You think you get to act like a fucking faggot in my fucking house? Fuck you! I'll fucking fix you!"

Terry tromped into the room as Mickey and Ian watched, breathless. This was the dangerous part. If Terry just pulled out a gun and shot them, they'd die. But Mickey was pretty sure he'd want to get up close and personal. Terry pulled out a gun and terror filled Ian's brain, but instead of shooting anyone, Terry hauled off and fucking pistolwhipped Mickey, and Ian grabbed Linda's gun from between his thigh and Mickey's.

Before Terry even realized Ian had a gun, he aimed for Terry's head and fired in one smooth motion. Everything seemed to pause for a moment as the shot moved through the air and into Terry's head. Ian's instructor ought to be proud, because he was sure he could never have made the shot without the hours and hours of practice.

Blood poured out of Terry's head and all over the room. The coppery smell of it made Ian feel sick.

Terry Milkovich was fucking dead, and Ian fucking murdered him. There was a part of Ian that felt hollow and scared and childish, but then he looked toward Mickey, who was staring at the body, tears in his eyes. He was also bleeding.

"Mickey?" Ian asked, a pit forming in his stomach. If Mickey decided now that he regretted what they'd done, what the fuck would Ian do?

"Oh, fuck, we did it, you did it, oh—" And then a couple of tears actually made their way down Mickey's cheeks. "He can't—" but whatever Terry couldn't, actually saying it seemed to be a bridge too far in the emotion department.

Ian went to pull him closer, but Mickey pulled away. "Shit, we gotta get ready before the cops get here."

Ian nodded and they separated and put their pants on properly. It was summer. Not so odd for them to be shirtless for no better reason than that. Then Ian went and called the cops, because it would be less suspicious that way.

The ambulance and police came together, and someone patched Mickey up while Ian talked to a cop.

"He came in, and he was just, I don't know, maybe he was high or something, he just fucking took out that gun and he was hitting Mickey. He said he was going to kill us, and I believed him.

"Sometimes when I leave the store late and I have to take a deposit to the bank, I bring the gun with me, and I had it on me, and he wouldn't stop, so, so I shot him."

* * *

Mandy arrived as the police left. They hadn't arrested Ian, but they'd told him not to leave town.

"Mickey? Ian? What the fuck happened?"

Ian swallowed hard. They were outside, walking out toward a nearby abandoned house, because the Milkovich place was a crime scene. The door was covered in yellow tape.

"C'mon, Mandy," Ian said. "We're going, we can't stay here. We'll explain there."

Mandy's lips pursed, but she kept silent until they'd safely broken into the abandoned house—not difficult, since the door didn't even shut properly anymore.

"Seriously, Ian. Explain. Right the fuck now."

"Mandy, Terry is dead. I shot him."

Mandy stared at Ian, jaw hanging open. "But, but, how did you fig—I mean, why?"

Ian almost let what Mandy was about to say go. He was so fucking tired. But curiosity was apparently still strong, because he said, "The fuck you think I could 'figure out' that would make me kill Terry?"

Mandy looked away. "Nothing," she said in a tone much too flat for believability.

Ian's stomach clenched. He looked at Mickey, who seemed worried too.

"Mandy, don't bullshit me. What did Terry do? He's fucking dead. He can't hurt you."

Mandy looked at Ian and then at Mickey, and then she said, in a voice that told Ian she wanted him to disagree, "He's dead. It doesn't fucking matter."

"Bullshit it doesn't! Please, Mandy."

Mandy stepped back toward him. "When, when he gets—got—drunk, sometimes… sometimes he saw a hole instead of a daughter."

It took a second for Ian to understand. Mickey got it instantly, and he went to Mandy. His face looked _broken,_ and he put his hands up to her forearms but didn't touch her.

The words finally penetrated Ian's brain, and white-hot fury filled his mind for a moment. _'I wish I'd shot him in the stomach and let him die slow.'_

Mickey was talking. "Mandy, no, fuck, why didn't you say something? We would have stopped him."

Mandy laughed. "Bullshit. He's fucking unstoppable."

"We stopped him!"

"You got hurt!" Mickey's face was covered in bandages, and it made something ache in Ian's chest. Ian had wanted to shoot Terry earlier, but Mickey was sure the self-defense story wouldn't stick that way.

Mickey snorted. "Like this is the worst he's ever done to me." The matter-of-fact way he spoke made Ian want to punch someone. Or be sick. "And it was worth it," Mickey added.

"Well, I wasn't prepared to risk it," Mandy said.

"Guys, it's done. He's gone. There's no point fighting about what you should have done," Ian pointed out.

Mandy nodded. "What the fuck happened?"

Ian gave her the same story he told the cops.

She gave him a skeptical look. "Terry just attacked you with zero provocation? He's a fucking asshole, but if he were that crazy they'd have managed to keep him in jail years ago. What actually happened?"

Ian said, "That's what happened," but he looked at Mickey. He really needed to get better at not doing that.

Mandy turned to her brother. "What. Happened?"

Ian shot him a pleading look over her shoulder. He would love to stop keeping who he was fucking from Mandy.

Mickey looked at his sister and gulped. Looked away, toward Ian for a moment. His face firmed with resolve, and he said, so softly they had to lean toward him to hear, "I'm a fucking queer, Mandy. And Ian and I are fucking."

"I—you're fucking my boyfriend‽" Mandy asked Mickey, sounding somewhere between angry and confused.

Ian answered in his most patient tone. "I told you I was fucking someone, Mandy. I just didn't say who it was, because Mickey's closeted. Also, you and I aren't fucking, so I still don't see why it's your business who I'm fucking." This was at least half a joke. Ian knew this was somehow part of how friendship worked for Mandy. She told him way more than Ian wanted to know about her fuckbuddies. But it was growing on him. Like mold.

Mandy's expression went strange, and Ian wasn't sure what was going on. Mickey was trying to look completely cool, but Ian knew her reaction mattered. After a moment, she nodded. "Okay, Mickey. You're gay. What does that have to do with anything?"

Mickey and Ian both stared at Mandy with all the skepticism that question deserved.

"He found out? What were you thinking? You knew he'd be home…" Mandy trailed off, eyes wide, and whispered, "Holy fuck, you two planned this."

Mickey nodded.

"What are you going to do when our brothers come after Ian?" Mandy asked him, tone rising.

Ian swallowed. "We're crossing our fingers they don't actually kill me? Maybe decide the old man was a fuckhead anyway and skip beating me entirely?" Ian hadn't let himself think about this yet.

Mandy shook her head. "Fuck, Mickey, he's a big part of their jobs, he has contacts that will be difficult for them to keep hold of with him dead! They'll be pissed! And Terry's family, even if he knocked us around! What the fuck were you thinking‽"

Mickey shrugged. "I was thinking that if I was going to get beaten to death at least I could make sure Terry was fucking dead first."

Ian's heart broke a little bit for him at that.

Mandy stepped into her brother's space and poked his chest. "You want to be a fucking martyr, that's your problem. But you got Ian in on this‽" she half screamed.

"Mandy, it was my idea," Ian said.

Mandy turned to Ian. "What?"

"Killing Terry. I talked Mickey into it. He said it was too dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because I'm fucking tired of this shit! I'm tired of Mickey looking over his shoulder all the time! I'm tired of figuring out where Terry hit you last when you flinch! And I really didn't want Mickey to kill Frank."

_"What‽"_

Ian then had to explain that Frank saw them together, and Mickey's reaction.

Mandy covered her face with her hands and sighed hugely. "Fuck, this makes everything so complicated. I just, I have to think for a minute." She started to pace.

Ian had no idea what to say or do. He was tired, and he was really hoping someone else had the brains to come up with a plan for him not dying, because he was fresh out. He sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, and, to his surprise, Mickey came over and sat next to him, let their shoulders bump together. He didn't look at Ian, but it still felt… well, it was more physical contact than Mickey had ever allowed with their clothes on. Ian smiled and Mickey looked away, so he didn't push it.

Ian was drowsing when Mandy turned and said, "Okay, I have it. You two stay here. I'll go explain that you were confronting him about… about…" Mandy swallowed and whispered the next word, "raping me. He flipped out and hit Mickey with a goddamned gun, so you shot him. Because he raped me." She managed to get the word out more easily the second time. Then she closed her eyes for a moment against it.

"Mandy…" Ian said. He felt like a piece of shit for putting that worried look on her face. "You don't have to…"

"You're my best friend, Ian. You're my best friend and I'm not going to let you die while there's something I can do about it, you hear me‽ Now stay the fuck here and let me take care of this before they find out and work themselves into a murderous rage!"

* * *

Ian didn't know the time when Mandy stomped into the abandoned house. Somehow, he and Mickey had ended up curled around each other in their little corner of the floor, still dressed.

"Rise and shine, boys, I've talked them around," Mandy said smugly.

The second Mickey realized that he was cuddled up to Ian, he rolled away hard enough to shove Ian against the wall.

Ian squawked in protest.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "I know, dipshit, you don't need to pretend you weren't cuddling, honestly."

"I don't fucking cuddle," Mickey snapped.

"Whatever you say," Mandy said without pretending she gave a shit. "Ian, we need to get you home before Fiona loses her goddamn mind, she's worried."

Ian nodded. "Where are you going?"

Mandy shrugged. "Not sure. Joey's place, probably. No doubt CPS will be on our asses soon."

Ian winced. "Sorry."

Mandy snorted. "CPS fucking sucks, but Terry sucked more. No apologies."

And somehow that, even after everything, surprised Ian a little, because even though Frank and Monica were truly awful parents, he and his siblings did everything they possibly could to stay out of foster care, because even Frank's bullshit wasn't as bad as that. But Terry's was worse. Ian knew that already, but somehow hearing it like that made it clearer.

"Come with me. I mean, stay at our place tonight." He wanted Mickey and Mandy close. He didn't want to be alone with his family and their shit.

Neither of them protested, and that was how Ian knew that they were pretty fucking overwhelmed.

Fiona pounced on Ian with a hug the minute they got inside, and the entire family—except, of course, Frank—sat in the living room peppering them with questions. They—mostly Ian—gave the cop story. Everyone seemed to buy it except Lip, who said nothing, but gave Ian looks that told him they were going to have A Conversation soon.

* * *

Once the house was finally asleep, Ian woke to Lip bent awkwardly past Mickey (who was sleeping beside Ian's bed) poking Ian's shoulder. "Wake the fuck up, asshole."

Ian grumbled, but he got up and followed Lip out of the house and into the van, where they could talk.

"Christ, Ian, what the fuck were you thinking? I thought the Mickey thing was just fucking."

"It's not my fault Terry just attacked us, man."

"Oh, don't give me that shit."

"Fine. He'd have killed Mickey and probably me if he found out, so we took care of it."

"Jesus, what are you gonna do if they figure out you planned it?"

"Go to jail, I guess. But they don't seem that interested in solving the case anyway."

"I can't believe you committed murder for Mickey Milkovich. Milkovich! He's not good enough for you."

"Oh, and Karen fucking Jackson is a paragon of virtue? Fuck off."

"What are you going to do when the rest of the brood comes after you?"

"It's taken care of."

"How?"

"None of your fucking business, that's how."

"Ian…"

"No, Lip. Now I'm going back to bed."

* * *

Linda almost fired Ian and Mickey for getting her gun involved in another shooting, but ultimately decided not to because now Terry Milkovich was never going to rob her store again.

When Mickey came back to work, he locked the store the minute Linda was out of view, then the back. Then he pulled Ian behind the shelves. Ian expected Mickey to start tugging on his clothes, but instead he wrapped his arms around Ian and kissed him.

It was good because it was Mickey, but it was immediately clear that Mickey had no idea what he was doing in the kissing department. Ian found it kind of satisfying. He and Mickey had come at sex with a basically similar level of knowledge. He liked the idea of teaching Mickey how to kiss properly—if Mickey would let him.

Eventually, Mickey broke the kiss. "I'm not going to, to hold hands and cry and be a little bitch and shit. But we don't have to be quite so careful anymore."

Ian beamed at the admission that there was a "we" to be had here. "That sounds good, Mickey."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are never required, but always appreciated. And if anyone is under the misapprehension that long, detailed comments are "annoying" (something I've seen on The Hellsite a couple of times), please rest assured that they are no such thing.  
ETA: A couple of people have subscribed to this despite it being marked complete. There _is_ the beginnings of some kind of additional Mickey POV thing slowly trickling from my brain, but it's never going to come together without a second pair of eyes, so if you ever wanna see it you'll have to come help. This isn't a bribe or a demand, this is a fact of my writing style: about 3,000 words is as far as I can get without an alpha reader.  
Does this make sense? Would they have stopped to think long enough to actually do this? Probably not, but it occurred to me that basically everything would have been better if Terry just evaporated before S3, and after that I had to get it out of my head.  
Does it make sense for them to get away with it? Maybe, maybe not. I don't really care. If I wanted realism I'd watch the news. Anyone wishing to argue legal realism is advised to go find someone who cares. Police procedure is probably fucked to hell with not arresting Ian at all to begin with, but I don't care. He needed to talk to Mandy.  
There are much more complicated feelings that Mickey and Mandy and Ian will have to deal with at some point, but that's probably a good 50,000 words and I love Stormlight Archive way more than this, so someone else can write that bit if so moved.  
I haven't seen much of the show, so anything else weird is probably down to that.  
Find me at cuendenan.tumblr.com if you want to.


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